


Whole of The Moon

by brownwidow



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous s5 plot divergence, Angst, Dean is 18 and Jared is 19-20 dont worry im not a creep, M/M, Running Away, So this is basically “emo/goth” dean, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26023594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownwidow/pseuds/brownwidow
Summary: Irrational people make irrational choices.Dean leaves the compound.
Relationships: Dean Venture/Brown Widow, Dean Venture/Jared
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to just give in and write a fic with pissy angsty emo Dean. Mostly exploring the emotional turmoil he was probably going through in between his like 5 seconds of screen time in s5. This is written in Dean's pov so it will be melodramatic sometimes, of course.
> 
> Jared lacks a lot of canon character development be that for better or for worse, so a chunk of him is fanon a friend and I have amassed since he was re-introduced in s6.

There were 12 previous clones, one original. Well, that was only the ones accounted for, through investigation of the compound grounds with a half-broken ground scanner (thanks pop). How many times did he die, too far from home, unreachable, unsalvageable? One of _the boys_ goes missing, and pop just rolls out another clone to take place.

Was he even the first to run away?

He had been considering leaving, since the day he found out the truth. Living in a home where your own corpse is buried en masse, living replacements of yourself in stasis in the backroom. He quickly grabbed the opportunity to hole up in the attic, but that wasn’t enough. It was only a loose plan in his mind, what if, only a lingering thought. There was no chip embedded in his skin (he checked), his watch would stay at home with a note to only his brother. Leaving out the true reason, if only Hank could go with him. 

Had Brock been here it wouldn’t have worked. Hatred meant well (putting aside the fact he was a ”reformed” pedophile), but didn’t exactly function as a proper guard. He didn’t know how to turn the perimeter defenses on, and Mr White still managed to be the _only person_ who knew how to use CCTV. Amazing the entire place wasn’t annihilated by now.

Looking back at the compound from the front gates, Dean only felt neutral. The final Dean clone wondered what his original would think about this now. What Hank would think when he woke up to find a note and a communicator watch at his door.

_Sorry, Hank._


	2. How long is 48 Hours in Dog Years?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief suicide mention. Only for a short two sentence, vague, passing thought.

Public transportation doesn’t fit in the image of a “boy adventurer”. Private jets, speedboats, camel-back in the middle of some stupid hot desert. Not a greyhound bus puttering down nowhere on the highway. Leaving in the middle of the night meant no cars to hitchhike in. Meant walking hours to the nearest bus stop. Meant peeling down a blood-soaked sock to reveal the most painful, largest blister Dean had _ever_ gotten.

The water he had packed for his _entire trip_ had been pissed away the moment he boarded. He’d have to buy more at the rest stop before switching buses. $5 per bottle. Another bus ticket. Paid in cash. He had counted every coin to the exact amount. A very heavy piggy bank and money from Hatred’s wallet, being chipped away faster than he expected. The cashier passive-aggressively recounted the total anyway.

Financially projecting, there would be no money for motels so he’d have to sleep on the bus. Stare out the window, read and reread the small selection of books he brought. By now it would’ve been cheaper, and quicker, to have just taken a _single_ flight. But he needed the anonymotity, just that much. Paying for bus tickets namelessly rather than being immediately tracked down because he took a plane in his own name. It would take him 2 days to reach New York City, and he was around halfway there by now. Dean had no watch, no real way to gage the time except asking a stranger (no thanks!), or the sun’s (or moon’s) position in the sky.

He had chosen NYC since it was the easiest to disappear into. Become a grain of sand in a desert far away from the Venture Compound. It’s not like he was technically running away, he was 18, a legal adult! He could leave whenever he wanted to. Yea, he didn’t have to be chained down to the family name like Pop.

The letter was read by everyone by now. Anxiety was beginning to flare up, chewing the inside of his cheek. He tried to imagine what could be happening at the compound but it made his stomach clench and his palms sweaty. The consequences were setting in, this decision was final. The letter burning into his retinas. In hindsight the heat of the moment, writing it, probably worded it like a suicide note. Pop could be thinking that the day had come where he couldn’t undo a dead child. Dean began to taste blood. _What does he care, maybe he shouldn’t have continued the cycle of abuse and put them in fatal situations. He got to whine about how shitty grandpa was then turns around and does the same crap to them, minus being an actually successful scientist._

Worry was turning into anger, then sadness, fizzling out to nothing. The glass was cold against his cheek but it burned from the bloody hole in his mouth. There was white noise, a car passed, brainstormed fake last names, he missed his bed back home.


	3. Terminal

_Can you put "Bus Transfer Expert" on your resume?_

The air on the coast was so much more... dense than back home. Pollution, maybe? It certainly wasn't something to consider "fresh air". After two days stuck in a bus he was going to take whatever he got at this point. The final terminal, his destination, was much different than the past ones. It carved out the bottom of a large office building, populating itself with various types of buses and passengers ranging from elderly women to businessmen to school children. Existing in their own bubbles between point A and B, not paying him any mind. He was just another face, not someone arriving in a giant high tech jet plane adorned with a friggin' _Venture_ emblem.

Dean expected relief at completing one goal towards a new life. The issue, it was the _only_ goal he had. The trip cost far more than anticipated, the plan also less plan and more spur of the moment. Even so, panic didn't set in. Complete numbness, autopiloting himself up to street level and aimlessly into the city.

_You are completely alone in a giant city._

Prior to exiting the bus terminal, he snatched up a tourist map of the city. A motel room was out of the question, so the best option he could think of was spending the night in Central Park. It would be a significant walk but he would make it before dusk. Sleep deprivation was suppressing all the blisters, the holes stress-chewed into his cheek, hollow stomach from surviving on chips for two days. He existed outside his body, looking on as Dean melted into the crowd.

_You are completely alone._

He had been to Central Park when he was little. Mr White had gone along with them, touting himself as their guide. Probably doubling as companionship for Pop, Brock had only recently been assigned as their guard and wasn’t yet the person they knew now. Mr White was nice, he would have rather been staying in his trailer than homeless in some mini woods in Central Park. Dean felt convinced his pop was in some secret relationship with Mr White, and would somehow convince him to bring Dean back to the compound as if it were some custody battle.

The numbness was subsiding at this point. His body hurt and despite having nothing but a jacket to sleep on, exhaustion was getting the best of him. Everything was becoming real to him. His new reality began with sleeping in some bushes in Central Park.

* * *

_One morning I woke up and my freckles were different. Previously, they bunched up at the bridge of my nose, and there was a big darker one under my right eye. Now, as I examine my face in the mirror, overnight they distributed evenly across my cheeks. I don’t think of this occurrence again till I wake up one morning and my freckles are different once more._

“Alright kid, time to move it,” Dean jolted awake, greeted by a cop prodding him with his baton. Afraid of confrontation, Dean quickly gathered up his things. A few others had also been sleeping there, some less than pleased about the eviction.

“I’m sorry, I was just-“

“Don’t do it again,” The officer moved on, leaving him to collect his thoughts. He had to… find somewhere else to go. Would he try searching for a job today? That would require lots of walking since he couldn’t afford any fares, and he would die of blood loss if he blistered himself anymore. The threat of further confrontation over sleeping here was enough to push Dean out of Central Park at least. Push through it, walk in one direction for as long as possible until he saw somewhere hiring or collapsed from pain or exhaustion.

People didn’t stare at you, quite the opposite. It seemed everyone was doing their best not to acknowledge you here. A constant feeling of being ignored and being gawked at all at once. Distancing yourself from Central Park the crowd began to dissipate. By now he was in a constant state of autopilot, fully disconnected from-

His bag was gone. Or rather, forcibly ripped off his back by someone who was now running off with basically his entire life. Dean shouted, ran after the thief. This can’t happen. This is even worse.

_You’re alone with no one to help you._

Back alleys aren’t as scary as they’re made out to be. There’s some garbage, maybe a mystery puddle or two. Nothing too out of the extraordinary unless you are grappling with someone who robbed you in broad daylight. While he was putting up a fight, Dean was rather weak and easily losing this scuffle. But the mistake he made was yelling for help. He got his bag back, but now had a knife threateningly apparent against his neck. 

_You’re going to die._

_I’m going to die._

_I’m going to die._

_I’m going to die._

He felt a sting across his throat, cold then hot. This was it, he was going to die in some alleyway over a _stupid bag_. All for nothing. The blood rushing from his head, everything going white. The final death of Dean Venture.

  
  
  



	4. Eyes Without a Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :’( Go Team Venture...!

_ Close your eyes and think about the sound of an old tube television. Not the sounds from what's playing on it, but a high pitched noise just out of reach, deep within your thoughts. You shut the television off, running your hand along its screen. Static, wiping away. Remnants of that low buzz, only to return another time. _

* * *

Static fizzled over and engulfed the world. A feeling, like the first drop on a rollercoaster. Every neuron stalling, expecting immediate death. Then firing at once, response to stimulus rather than demise. Dean’s eyes bolted open, and he would’ve fallen flat on his ass had there not been hands firmly gripping his shoulders. Blood rushed back to his brain, his mind cleared. There were hands gripping his shoulders.

“Whoah, whoah, hey!” Dean jerked his body away, knocking against the alley wall. He only then regained his vision, the person standing in front of him wasn’t the mugger. Looking around, it appears the culprit had fled. “Guess you didn’t get hurt too bad, kid.”

The man stepped forward, cautiously, due to Dean’s response earlier. Obviously this guy was some sort of superhero, since he was clad in the stereotypical skintight getup. Brown, with an orange hourglass on his abdomen.

“I messed up getting that knife, but it looks like you only got nicked.” Touching his own neck, there wasn’t any blood, only what felt like a segmented papercut. A wave of self consciousness washed over Dean as the man stepped into his space to check the injury too. He literally had so many eyes on him at once, from a single person.

“He still got my bag,” The anxiety was back, he was caving in on himself and was hoping the mutant wouldn’t notice.  _ Is mutant a derogatory term? _ “I don’t have anything else.. I..”

“Probably why he targeted you, not victim blaming or anything, tourists tend to be the ones that-“

“I remember you,” Dean blurted out, it was a sudden revelation that only connected before the man could finish his sentence. “A year ago.. you were my neighbor. My dad.. casted you in some stupid play.”

“Mmmh,” Six eyes squinted in recollection, incredibly  _ jarring _ . “Oh yeah! That musical about Rusty Venture I never got a callback for.”

_ You never had an audition. _

“Yyeaah, pop’s actually the, he’s Rusty Venture. I uh-“ If it weren’t for the mask he would’ve been able to see him get flush. This guy doesn’t have a rather “hero” personality.  _ No point beating around the bush,  _ “I ran away from home.”

“Oh shit,” Yeah, no hero personality. “Well I can uh… I should be able to direct you to a-“

“No! I mean, no shelter. I don’t know if my dad asked our old bodyguard to look for me by now and he’s in OSI and-“

“Okay okay, no shelter. I.. eeeehhhmm,” He looked around a little, like he was worried about being watched too. “I really shouldn’t do this but.. I feel kinda bad and.. I kinda know you I guess.”

_ Just TELL me. _

“I can let you stay with me for a few days. This was the end of my patrol so I can take you now. Only a few days, and like, only if you’re fine with it.”

“I’ll take anything over sleeping on the ground again,”

“My floor isn't exactly an upgrade from that,”


	5. Unwilling Houseguests

“Are you still sure about the shelter thing?” Seeing protags and antags out of uniform was always so… mundane. Personality must’ve run out making their personas, so they kept it 25/7 (like the Monarchs) or embraced the generic when not _on_ _the job_.

Once the man had changed into his street clothes, the consequences of letting a stranger sleep on his floor must’ve set in. In hindsight it was a stupid think to this guy offer, and a stupid thing for Dean to of accepted. The air between them was thick with awkwardness, and had Dean not been confined to circumstances of possibly being looked for, he would’ve changed his mind too by now. “My dad will- or has; probably ask our old bodyguard to look for me. He works at OSI, and the last time I checked they have a stupid amount of insight on things. Shouldn’t you know this, being a superhero and all?”

“Mmmh, well-“ The man sheepishly looked away, out the window. Their taxi was currently stuck in some mild traffic given it was only just after noon. A pink sweatband concealed his extra eyes, but if you looked up close you could just barely see their outlines. “I’m not exactly on the  _ record _ as a superhero. Well I am, but OSI doesn’t hold much interest in Canadian protagonism groups”.

The conversation stalled from that point. Neutral silence over the barely muffled sounds of the city. Traffic slowly began to unclog and the tall skyscraper dwindled down to basic buildings. Upon crossing a bridge it dwindled even further to more vacant lots and boarded up windows. Dean shifted around uncomfortably as the idea of sleeping in a stranger’s apartment in a scary looking area, was truly real to him now.

“I’m Jared, by the way” the man, Jared, broke through the incoming anxiety wave. He was still facing away and his voice was laced with nervousness. “Jared Jansen. I thought you should know since I already know yours.”

Upon saying that his eyes (even under his sweatband) widened and he went pink, pivoting around to face him with arms half raised. “Not in a  _ stalker _ way! You just- a lot of people know who the Ventures are and since I am in the- hero stuff of course I know about  _ uhm _ you know your whole family. But- but like you know from what they-  _ news _ and stuff and the Rusty Venture show and  _ ohhh shit _ not that your-“

“ _ I get it _ ,” Dean put a hand to his face, mostly to mask a stifled giggle at the scene this man was making. It obviously wasn’t working because Jared was now red to his ears with embarrassment. Dean looked away and at their surroundings again, “Do you still live in the same place since last year?”

“Oh- no, I moved back to Toronto for summer break-“  _ Summer break _ , meant he was probably around Dean’s age. Not that he  _ looked like an old guy _ , but he definitely looked a little aged from most likely stress and chain smoking. A very tired looking early 20’s. “But I still live in the same area, upgraded from a closet”.

“What do you major in?” Their cab came to a stop, their destination. This block luckily had a better occupied:abandoned building ratio than when he briefly interned in NYC. They both exited, Jared only processing being questioned once the driver was paid and departed.

“Huh?”

“You said summer break”.

“As of right now I’m a sophmore in acting,” His chest swelled with pride and he twiddled with his keys to the approaching apartment building. A plain looking place with white stucco that needed powerwashing. Metal stairs lead to a second level of numbered doors that lead into their respective apartment. It didn’t look too scary but it certainly wasn’t something to brag about. “I was planning on doing science, but after I blew myself up the first month of freshman year and ended up like this. Well, yeah.” He panned his freehand up and down himself while he unlocked the door labelled 9 out of 12 others.  _ Mutated, and perhaps a love for theater developed as well _ .

* * *

Safe to say it was cramped, clean, save for some evidence of being lived in. The kitchen bled into the living room (which consisted of a small table, two chairs, couch, and a tv with a laptop hooked up to it). Squeezing past all the thrifted furniture, there was a bedroom decorated with posters, a desk barely fitting between a small bed and the wall. A closet with no door, the bathroom lacking one as well.

After the tour, Jared snapped into proactivity. Tidied up a little and set up a spot on the couch for Dean, made instant ramen for the two of them, sat him down at the tiny circular table with a pen and paper and scribbled while he ate his meal. Upon completion, retiring the styrofoam and plastic tableware to the garbage, he handed Dean his writing.

“I know this seems hasty but,” Jared blushed again, the stoicness of action washing away and revealing his remaining timidness around the still stranger Venture. “Since you don’t want to go a shelter, I'm assuming you’ll need to work off the books as well. I’m uh, also off the books at the place I work at,” He tapped a line that read  _ Yumi _ followed by a phone number. 

“Luckily for you, we are understaffed” Another factor in the stress lines, “So you shouldn’t have much trouble getting in as like… dishwasher probably. But, that means uh- you can probably get a place soon.”

There was a pressure on the word  _ soon _ , and  _ dishwasher _ , and the way he danced around the room a little suggested he was eager to have this plan executed as soon as possible with any result as long as it gets Dean  _ out _ of his apartment. It was a nice gesture of help although it made him feel guilty for freeloading of some kind.

“You should call while I’m out. I have a class, back from summer break, remember?” He smiled a little, making his exit without goodbye. Dean had been distracted by his thoughts, then by Jared's scheme, he hadn’t noticed most of Jared’s possessions (including the laptop) had vanished. The bedroom door was also locked. 

_ He thinks I was going to steal stuff while he was gone. He put all his stuff in his room. _

Dean jiggled the doorknob a little, locked from the inside somehow. 

_ Wait. _

_ Now I can’t get to the bathroom. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jared’s apartment is just a shoddily renovated ex-motel I guess.


End file.
